


An Aching Kind of Growing

by GwenTheTribble



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: @wes anderson im sorry, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Non-Mutant, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Anger, Angst, Charles Always Says the Absolute Worst Thing He Could Possibly Say, Cisswap, Coming of Age, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Infidelity, Erik loves his kids, Erik was still in the holocaust but without his powers he wasnt singled out and isnt wanting revenge, F/M, Girl!Alex, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, Moonrise Kingdom au, Suicidal Thoughts, charles can walk, consentual stuff, cuba didnt happen, dadneto, dog!logan - Freeform, for only a few hundred hits, growing up sucks and they know it, i bumped up their ages from twelve to fourteen to make it less gross, i took dialogue straight from the script im a fraud, im just not feeling it any more, im sorry, most of the kids up their are mentioned only in passing, shaw is not the bad guy in this he's just a joke, teenage runaways, they are both underage, to much work, without shaw erik is just an angry sad tired man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenTheTribble/pseuds/GwenTheTribble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexandra Summers and Hank McCoy have been penpals for two years.  They become each others only friends in the world.  Hank tells her about his problems making friends and missing his dead parents and how hard it is to be unwanted.  She tells him about her rage and her fear of the future and how trapped she feels.  They fall in love and decide to run away together, using Hank's skills from being a Khaki Scout.<br/>Scout Master Charles Xavier and Police Chief Erik Lehnsherr rush to try and find them before the storm of the century.<br/>The Moonrise Kingdom AU.<br/>DONT READ THIS ONE GRANDMA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dont know a thing about Westchester and i do not care.  
> I cant really see Erik as a cop due to his experiences in the camps, but i didnt know what else to do with him.

                The rain pounded the roof of their rather rickety, sun bleached house.  Scott and Gabriel were listening to music on Scott’s portable record player, playing quiet games that did not include their older sister.   Their parents, silent and apathetic to each other as usual, smoked and read, and went about their day.   Alex would often play with a lighter she kept on a cord around her neck, and it was anyone’s guess where she got it, but one day it was there and she refused to give it up.  This was just one thing on a list of angry, seemingly disturbed, things that Alexandra Summers had done. 

                She moved like a restless wind throughout the house, a usual slight scowl on her face.  She wore a plaid skirt with a white button up shirt tucked in, along with the smallest leather jacket she could steal.  The skirt, in keeping with fashion was on the short side, and pulled up even shorter by the girl herself.   She coupled it with the bright blue eye shadow that angered her parents and teachers endlessly.  She had taken it from the church’s makeup supply when she had been a raven in Noah’s Ark. 

                Alex went from her room to room, her entire existence feeling oppressive, feeling that with her parents and herself all trapped in the house, somebody was bound to get angry, and it was most likely going to be her.  It was worse that the last time she had seen her father angry was years ago, at her.  It was worse that he seemed to have given up on Alex, like he had given up on her mother.   Of course, it was possible that her parents had never cared for each other, and both felt as trapped as she did, only instead they had grown to accept their own unhappiness with age. 

                The rain abated slightly in the afternoon, just in time for the post man.  Alex hurried out to check the mail, a slight good natured smirk on her face when she saw familiar hand writing.  It was on the microscopic side, the ink slightly smudged due to the writer being left-handed.  She left the rest of the mail in the box and hurried to the small bench down the road that resembled a bus stop, though there were no bus stops in Westchester.  Just like there were no trains or subways, and very few cars.  She sat down to read it, curling in on herself, lighter resting cool in her hand.  The smirk grew larger, more excited. 

 

\------------------------

 

The morning of September 2, 1965 dawned clear.  Charles Xavier, Scout Master of Camp Grey, rose with the bugle call and dressed in his uniform cheerfully.  The day was already setting up to be beautiful.  Ororo Monroe approached him as he stepped out of his tent and lit a cigarette.  Her uniform was impeccable as usual and she held a small spiral notebook, her pen already poised. 

                “Morning Ro.” He greeted her.  They must have been an odd scout group.  Mixed gender and mixed race, with some of the scouts even having unnatural hair and eye colors that no one could seem to account for, all led by an English man with a doctorate. 

                “Good morning, sir.” She replied with cheer, respectful as always.  

                Charles began to walk with exuberant purpose.  He paused to inspect things, applauding his scout’s ingenuity with the latrine, Ororo scribbling in the notebook and walking in sync with him the whole time. 

               

“Kitty, how’s that lanyard looking?” He called to the youngest scout, who held up a mess of plastic attached to a rabbit’s foot.

                “Bad.”  She said, simply and honestly.  Charles inspected it, as if he was trying to find something kind to say about it.  He opened his mouth, but closed it again, instead choosing to gently clap Kitty on the back and doing the secret handshake with her.  He smiled before striding away to continue inspection, Ororo hot on his heels.

The sound of a motorcycle revving in the distance made him turn his head to the left, looking for the source of the noise.  In his distraction he tripped over a log, nearly sprawling in the dirt of the only tree in the camp.  He was surrounded by logs and planks of wood, and when finally he righted himself he found Bobby standing in front of him, holding even more branches. 

                “Bobby, what is all this lumber for?” He asked the boy. 

                “We’re building a tree house.” Bobby told him with a grin.  He shifted the branches in his arms to free one hand and pointed up, arm nearly straight. 

                Scout Master Xavier craned his head to see a that there was indeed a tree house at the top of the fairly tall thin tree, with only uneven wood planks nailed to the trunk as a ladder.

                “That is not safe.  If someone falls from up there it’s a guaranteed death.  Why did you put it up so high?”  He questioned, imagining one of his campers falling from it.

                “Well where would you put it?” Bobby asked, sounding almost like a genuine question.  

                Charles paused as though searching for a response.  In reality he was experiencing the phenomena of being asked so obvious of a question that your mind comes to a halt.  “Lower!” He exclaimed finally, deciding to move on, leaving Bobby looking sheepish.  He would deal with that death trap later. 

He approached the table of boys and girls who seemed to be building a bomb but who were actually making fireworks.  If that was any better.  Charles held his cigarette as far away from the teens as possible.  “How many rockets do you have, Pyro?”  He inquired with the boy who had been going by his nickname since day one. 

                “Sixteen and a half.”  He answered, still working with the funnel and powders. 

                “Is that enough for the jubilee?”  Charles asked Ororo, who flipped a page in her notebook before looking up and shaking her head. 

                “Pyro, go and fetch another pint of gun powder from the armory shed.” The Scout Master instructed.

 

The motorcycle that had so rudely distracted him earlier roared again, this time much closer, and Charles could see it and its driver.   “Azazel! Halt!” The motorcycle skidded to a halt in front of the leader, the boy’s long black hair swirling.  

                “Safety test sir.” The slight Russian accent colored the words.

                “Pardon me?”  Charles asked, choking on the dirt. 

                “The vehicle seems to be in good working order.  I’m just checking if-“ Azazel tried to save himself. 

                “Reckless cycling.  Second warning.  Next time the keys get taken away.” Charles warned him, voice edging on anger over the boy’s recklessness. 

                Azazel scowled slightly while Ororo made a note in her book.  Charles strode away, anger already dissipating, good mood returning.   A scout named Betsy was manning the grill, wearing an apron.  

“Morning, Betsy.”  He said to her before ringing the large bell that was attached to a post, signaling for the scouts to join him for breakfast.

 Charles sat in the middle of the long wooden table that they had all built together, him assisting with his math skills.   He opened up that week’s copy of Indian Corn to read the usual opening letter from the region’s Scout Master-in-Chief, Moira MacTaggert, a lovely young woman who had worked her way up from a pigeon scout.  Charles admired her greatly, not only for her own personal success as a woman but also for her leadership decisions.  She desegregated her regions troops and mixed the genders.   There was even talk of allowing queers, something that had outraged more than a few Scout Masters and parents. 

                The scouts were coming running, about twelve boys and girls in all, ranging from Eleven (Kitty) to Fifteen (Azazel and Warren).  They all sat down of the wooden seats and benches that they had also built together, leaving one spot on the very end empty. 

“Who’s missing?” He asked, already attempting a head count.  “Ororo, Pyro, Warren, Azazel, Kitty, Bobby, Sean, Darwin, Betsy, Angel, Anna Marie, Clarice.”  He was scanning his flock, all decent kids as far as he could see.  “Hank!”  He had probably just gotten distracted by a book or an equation. 

                He stood and flicked his cigarette into the bucket labelled fire.  He was trying to be a good safety role model.  Charles started walking to the end of the row of tents, smaller than his own, ready to remind Hank that he did have to eat sometime.  Reaching the end of the row, at the tent marked 7, Ororo by his side.  “Hank, are you in there?”  He called, expecting to hear the tent unzip and be met with the bleary eyes of a teen who had not slept the night before.   He and thirteen year old Ororo shared a look when there was no reply.

                Charles kneeled down, noting that the tent was zipped from the inside.  The Scout Master frowned.   The troop had gathered around him, that sense that all children have letting them know that something was happening.   Most of them still held their plates and ate while they watched curiously.

                “Hank?” Charles called again, in a softer voice.  He was beginning to feel the first tendril of concern.  When there was yet again no answer, he pulled out a scout pocket knife, choosing a thin tool with a hook on the end.  He hooked it on to the bottom of the zipper, pulling left and right before tugging it upwards briskly.  The tent unzipped, revealing a neatly made cot and things taped up gently to the sides of the fabric, no Hank McCoy in sight. 

                Charles moved inside the small tent, having to duck his head and bend his knees to fit.  He could only imagine what it must have been like for the nearly 6” 3’ scout.  The Scout Master looked around in confusion, experimentally lifting the lid of the foot locker and rolling back a corner of the carpet, as though he would find Hank underneath it.  He looked around, stupefied, before noticing the piece of folded lined paper, whose corner was sticking out from under the pillow.  He unfolded it delicately, eyes having to scan the miniscule writing once, twice, three times before his brain began to work again.  Once it did, it worked fast. 

                He turned suddenly to the Monet print taped up on the lower side of the tent, across from the bed, on the side if the tent that no one would usually look at.  Charles lifted it, to reveal a hole slightly bigger than a basketball cut out roughly.  He turned back to his staring troop. 

                “Bloody hell. He’s flown the coop.”

               

                The first step was to inform the police.   In this case, that was essentially one person, as Westchester, New York was a small quiet community on the coast with very little in the way of crime or excitement. 

                Charles Xavier sat in the tent using the two way radio, to contact the police captain.  The radio crackled slightly when he used it, and he knew that the Police Station’s had just done the same.

                “This is Captain Lehnsherr. Over.”  Charles would have described it as a bark if it had been louder. 

                “Captain Lehnsherr, This is Charles Xavier over at Camp Grey.  We seem to have a problem.  Over.”  He said, as pleasantly as he could, given the circumstances.

                “What is it. Over.”  The captain demanded impatiently. 

                “I’m not entirely certain.  I have an escaped khaki scout, you see.  Over.” 

                “What is that supposed to mean?” The voice growled, losing some of it’s meanness in his interest.

                “One of my scouts stole some fishing tackle, ten pounds of sundries, two bedrolls, plus an air rifle.  And he disappeared sometime in the night.  Over.”  It had been Ororo who had informed him of what was missing. 

                “Do you have any idea as to why? Over.”  The captain asked, not nearly as venomous as before. 

                “No, but he did leave me a letter of recognition. Over.”  Charles told him, admitting that he honestly had no clue as to why the intelligent boy had left.  The letter, written in small, slightly smudged font, had read:

                _Dear Scout Master Xavier,_

_I am very sad to inform you that I can no longer be a Khaki Scout of North America.  The rest of the troop will probably be happy to hear this.  It is not your fault.  I hope it is alright that I keep the uniform, and I am very sorry to have stolen the supplies I need.  I have left behind art posters and books that I could not take with me.  You probably do not want them, but you can have them if you do. If not, please give the books to Ororo and the art to Sean._

_Best Wishes, Hank McCoy._

“I suppose we should inform his parents.  Over.”  Captain Lehnsherr said, as though he really had no idea what to do in this situation.  He probably didn’t.  Westchester was a small, nothing-to-do place.

“Alright. I’ll meet you at the post office. Over and out.”  Charles called, anxiety burning his stomach. 

 

\-----------

 

                Charles had left Warren and Ororo in charge, trusting that the fifteen and thirteen year olds could handle the already fairly self-sufficient troop for a few hours.

                The post office was small, like everything else.  His sister Raven smiled when she saw him, but it faded away as soon as he told her that this was not a social call.  The police car pulled up just after Raven had finished making the preliminary connections and joined Charles outside, where he was watching the handsome if cold looking Captain Lehnsherr step out of his car. 

                “Captain Lehnsherr I’m Scout Master Charles Xavier, thank you for coming on such short notice.  This is my sister, Raven.  She runs the phones.” Charles hurried to explain, shaking the taller man’s hand.

                “Hello.  Let’s get this done.”  He greeted, speaking directly. 

                Raven and Charles hurried inside, Lehnsherr striding behind them.  She led them to a small station, with switches and an enormous head set resting on it, which she put on, handing Charles and Lehnsherr matching ones. 

                “Hello, Diane.” She said, holding the mike to her mouth.

                “Raven, I have your person to person from Alton.”  Charles heard the small feminine voice say.

                “Go ahead, Alton.” Raven told Diane, who connected them.

                “Hello?”  A man’s voice greeted in their head sets. 

                “Hello.  This is Captain Lehnsherr.” The officer began straight forwardly, as that seemed to be his nature.

                “Yes sir.  I received your message.  Thank you very much.  In fact we’ve come to a decision as a family.  We cannot invite Hank back.  This is only the most recent incident.  Last month it was getting in a fight at the library, the month before that set a fire trying to do some sort of science.  He’s a nice boy, but it’s just not fair to the others.”  _What is this man talking about?  Hank, in a fight?  Hank?_

“There is no need to panic.  We will find him.  We just wanted to notify you, as a matter of protocol.”  Lehnsherr said, seeming to be as confused as Charles.

                “I understand.  I just wanted to tell you what was happening on out end, for when you do find him.”  The man told them, not resolving any confusion at all.

                “I am confused by your statement.  You say that you cannot invite Hank back?”  Lehnsherr asked, Charles grateful for it.

                “Well Hank’s a good boy, but it’s just not fair to the others, you see.  Real smart, good heart.  But we can’t invite him back.  He’s emotionally disturbed.  And if you ask me, I think he might be one of them queers.”  The man said conspiratorially, with disgust in his voice.  Raven and Charles’s eyes flicked to each other, both aware of the shared secrets they guarded for each other. 

                “Am I speaking with Hank’s father?”  Lehnsherr finally asked after the man’s statement hung in the air for a moment. 

                The man replied with surprise in his voice; “No, sir.  Hank’s parents died a few years back.  We’re the Shaws.  We’re foster parents. He’s been with us since last June.” 

                Charles sat back in shock before pressing his head set firmly to his ear.  “Excuse me, sir.  This is Scout Master Xavier speaking.  Are you implying that Hank is an orphan?”

                “Well there isn’t no ‘imply’ about it.  Of course he is.”  Mr. Shaw said, as though he was informing Charles of something _everyone knew, so why don’t you?  Are you stupid?_

                “Well why the sod doesn’t it say so on the register, excuse my language?” Charles demanded.

                “I don’t know. What register?”  Mr. Shaw told him uselessly. 

                Charles held the said register in his hand.  It listed his height, name, age, rank, and any possible health problems. (Allergic to shellfish.) Nothing about him being an orphan!

                “Mr. Shaw, I have an escaped Khaki Scout.  We are notifying you as a matter of protocol.  You say you cannot take him back?  What are we supposed to do with him?”  Lehnsherr’s voice edged on anger.  Not impatience or gruffness. Anger.

                “That would be up to social services.  They’ll be in touch.  Good luck to you.”  The useless man hung up and Raven pulled the cords out and her head set off, dropping it on the table in defeat.  Charles did the same, rubbing his face tiredly.  His sister pulled out a tin box and opened it, offering it first to Lehnsherr who declined.  She then offered the box to Charles, who took one of the brownies within.  They sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing what the man had told them. 

 

\----------------------

 

Charles chose to return to his scout’s after that ordeal, turning down his Raven’s offer of a drink.

                Lehnsherr, whose tame turned out to be Erik, went back to his station where he said he would make the proper calls and file the paper work.

                The Scout Master stood before his group of twelve, that had been thirteen the day before.  They had gathered back packs equipped for a short hike when he had told them to and nearly all of them carried walking sticks.  “Use your orienting and path-finding skills we’ve been practicing all summer.  Let’s find our man and bring him home.  Remember this isn’t just a search party.  It’s also a chance to do some first class scouting.  Any questions?” He instructed them, ever the optimist. 

                Kitty raised her hand. “Kitty, your question.”  Charles called on her.

                “What is your real job sir?”  She asked, while they walked towards the edge of camp as a group.

                “I teach genetics.”

                “What grade?”

                “College.  Why?”

                Kitty shrugged, with big eyes, making Charles frown.

                “You know. We’re actually kind of in the middle of something. This is a crisis.” He told them all as they reached the break in the fence. “Any other questions?”

                Azazel raised his hand.  “Yes, Azazel?”

                “What if he resists?” the black haired boy asked, confusing Charles.

                “Who?”

                “McCoy.  Are we allowed to use force on him?”

                “No you are not.  This is a non-violent rescue effort.  You are to find him, not hurt him, under any circumstances.  Do I make myself clear?” He said with irritation, not comfortable with violence of any sort.

                The scouts all murmured their understanding, and Charles hoped that would be that last he heard of that.

                “Good.”  Charles paused before wheeling back to face Kitty.  “I’m going to change my answer to your question.  This is my real job, I’m a genetics professor on the side.”  He told her.  “Be careful out there.  Now who has Logan?”  He asked the group, and it is Angel who pointed past Charles.  He turned to see Anna Marie holding a forgotten sock of Hank’s to the dog’s nose.  She was giving the dog the scent, and Charles hoped it could still be picked up.  If any dog could do it, it would be Logan.

                Charles did not hear the Scouts at the back of the group, but if he did hear what they were murmuring, he would have seen red.

                “I heard he ran away because his family died.” Sean whispered.

                “I heard he never had any family at all.” Angel countered.

                “That’s probably why he’s crazy.” From Warren.

                “I’ll tell you one thing, comrades, if we find him, I’m not going to be the one who forgot a weapon.”  Azazel told them all.

                “Me neither.” Betsy said.

                Logan caught the scent, and started tugging Anna Maria with her.  Charles bid them all a good search. He had decided to search by boat, giving instructions over walkie talkies.  Ororo steered the small craft along the coast and through the rivers that cut up the coast into a series of islands.  Charles was comforted by the fact that they knew he didn’t go west, as that was too much mountain for the boy to climb.  If he had gone east, then he was on the coast.  North or south were the real problems. 

               

\-----------------------------

 

Somewhere in the more inhabited parts of Westchester, Captain Lehnsherr was showing Hank’s photo to residents and asking if they had seen the fourteen year old boy.  No one had.  

He had a map of every house in the town and was going door to door.  He started to head to the three story Summer’s home that was on the coast, near the edge of a meadow. 

                Erik had not wanted to be a police officer, not after his time in the camps.  He didn’t like authority figures, didn’t want to be that kind of one.  But when he arrived in America he had liked the small town where no one bothered him.  The only job available was being a cop.  In this case, The cop.  So he took it.  Spent his days fishing, checking out the occasional public drunkenness.  It was an easy, solitary, career.  He lived in the apartment above his station and would often catch his dinner, allowing him to send his money to his ex-wife Magda for his twin children Pietro and Wanda.  They were four, and the light of his life.  It pained him to be apart from them, but Magda did not want them to see him.

The Summer’s lived farther out of town than most people, and it was late in the day when finally he reached them. 

He parked his car at their fence and walked up the path, knocking on the screen door.  “Hello?” Mr. Summers asked.  He was a retired air force pilot, who had brought his family to Westchester from Alaska about two years before. 

“Hello sir.  I’m here to ask if you’ve seen this boy.” He asked, holding up the picture of Hank in his uniform. 

“Can’t say that I have.  Is he missing?”

“Is who missing?” Katherine Summers joined them.  Their eyes met.  They gave no other indication that they knew each other. 

“Hank McCoy.  He’s a Khaki Scout at Campy Grey, but he was ran away sometime in the night.  He took a canoe and supplies with him.”

“Camp Grey? That’s all the way down the coast.  You really think a fourteen year old boy could row that far so soon? In a canoe?” Mr. Summers asked incredulously. 

“He probably couldn’t.” Erik granted. 

“It’s possible.” Katherine said with a shrug.

“I disagree, it’d take at least three days.” Her husband told her with slight irritation.

“Two days, maximum.” She countered.

“Well I’m not going to stand here and argue about it.” Mr. Summers said, and before anything more could be said Erik interrupted.

“Call me if you see anything unusual.” He grit tiredly.

 

\-------------------------------

 

Alex Summers stood on the widows walk of her house, observing the police captain leave, watching him not go far at all.  He circled through the woods in his car and pulled up to a bench on the sea cliffs, about a hundred yards away from the house.  Alex, watching him through a pair of binoculars, lighter cool in her hand, observed him get out and sit on the bench, lighting a cigarette. Even from here he looked weary.  Every adult Alex had ever met looked faded, from far away or up close. 

She heard the screen door being closed, because even if it was done carefully, it just was, it still made a clacking sound.  Her mother was going out to the clothes that were drying, but wasn’t carrying a basket.  Alex watched as she ducked behind a sheet that was hiding a propped up bicycle.  Her mother got on the bike and pedaled away, going the same way as the Captain had.  Alex had to watch her mother pull up next to the police man through the binoculars, neither of them aware of their fourteen year old watcher.  Her mother lowered the bike to the grass and sat on the bench next to him, taking the cigarette from him.

They spoke to each other, and they both look so faded.  They didn’t even touch, but the way her mother smoked the stolen cigarette told Alex all she needed to know.  Her mother stared into space and the police officer touched her hair, the same blonde hair that she had given Alex.  Her mother made a gesture with her hands that the girl couldn’t see and handed him back his cigarette before standing, picking the bike off the grass, and riding away.  Alex watched as he looked after her for a minute, before finishing the cigarette and driving away. 

 

\-------------------------------

               

Charles Xavier sat with his nightly cigarette and glass of scotch, about to do his tape recorded Scout Masters log.  A framed picture of Raven sat next to a framed picture of Scout-Master-in-Chief MacTaggert posing with a troop in front of the Matterhorn.  His lantern hung flickering.  He was wearing blue button up collared pajamas.  He lifted the microphone, turning on the recorder.

“Scout Masters log. September second.  Scout Hank McCoy ran away in the night, taking supplies and a canoe with him.  He has not yet been found. Morale is extremely low.  Probably because Hank is the least popular scout.  By a significant margin.  I believed he had more friends in the group than he did.  Those that weren’t apathetic to him were down right mean.  Disappointed in my entire troop tonight.  I expected more.  I hope tomorrow is better.”  He ended the recording, set down the microphone and knocked back his scotch.  It had been a trying day and now he just wanted to sleep.

 

\---------------------------

                               

                Ex-Khaki Scout Hank McCoy had been traveling for more than twenty four hours and it was now early morning.   He wasn’t particularly outdoorsy by nature, only choosing scouting because no foster parents would ever shell out the kind of money science camp required.  So while he was not a natural at this he was doing well so far, as he had studied as much as he could from books and from Scout Master Xavier himself.  He still wore his uniform, mostly because he didn’t have a lot of clothes to begin with, and the ones he did have were not suited to rowing down a fast moving river in a small canoe. 

                He whistled to himself as he rowed, compass held between his legs so that he didn’t lose it.  Finally he reached a place in the river that he could safely land on he reached a place in the river that he could safely land on, and dragged the canoe onto shore.  He began pulling branches to cover it, making it look like a large bush before beginning to walk with a map in his left hand, compass in the other.   A bundle of letters sat in his pack.  It was just a little further down the coast. 

 

\--------------------------

 

                Alex watched as Hank emerged from the woods.   She stood in the meadow.  They could have seen her from the house if they were looking.  No one was.  Her father had decided to help with the mail run that morning, and probably headed home at that moment.  He missed flying, so would often go with Jed to get the supplies that were not brought in by boat.   Westchester was extremely cut off, the trucks and trains delivering supplies not coming anywhere close.  The mountains made things hard for trucks. The islands made things hard for big boats.  It had been her mother who wanted to move here.

                Neither of them called out to each other, only looking at the other as he approached.  She had her father’s large satchel backpack and Scott’s portable record player, along with a small pink case that was shaped like a wheel of cheese, with a handle and a lock.   In the satchel backpack was an extra dress, a pair of jeans that she had cut short, three pairs of underwear and two bras, two pairs of clean socks, and a knife.  In the case were three albums, a pack of cigarettes, forty-three dollars, all of their letters, blue eye shadow, bandages, and sanitary napkins.  She didn’t ever have to go back to that house and let them make her tired. 

                He stopped when he was about ten feet away from her.  He had grown since she last saw him, two years before.  He had been gangly and awkward then, and he was gangly and awkward now, and she liked him both times. 

                It had been when she was a raven in the church’s presentation of Noah’s Ark.  He had snuck into the dressing rooms.  He looked at her so intently, and it was odd not to be looked at with weariness or like someone wanted to fix her.  It felt like he could see every jagged edge of her but didn’t flinch away. 

                “What kind of bird are you?” He had asked, and stupid Jenny Stevenson had tried to answer him.   They hadn’t stopped staring at each other, and he didn’t even look at Jenny when he said; “No I said, ‘what kind of bird are you?’” He pointed straight at her.  His letters would later tell her that this was an uncharacteristic act of rudeness and boldness. 

                “I’m a raven.” She said quietly, still looking at him intently. Watching as his eyes began to rove, observe, looking her up and down, trailing her neck, her shoulder, her wrist.  All the way down to her bandaged right hand. 

                “Boys aren’t allowed in here.”  Normally Alex would have snapped at Jenny for this.  She was too transfixed to care. 

                “I’ll be leaving soon.  What happened to your hand?” 

                “I got hit in the mirror.” She hardly hesitated to say. 

                “How’d that happen?”  He asked curiously, and she might have told him off for being nosy, but not with the way he was looking at her.  No judgment.

                “I lost my temper at myself.”  She had had to release the anger, and screaming wasn’t doing it.  It was either the mirror or setting the house on fire. 

                He looked only intrigued.  Curious.  Her eyes were still glued to his.

                “What’s your name?” She asked finally.

                “Hank.  What’s yours?”  He told her.  Hank.  She wouldn’t have guessed, but she liked it. 

                “Alex.” 

                “It’s not polite to stare.”  Stupid Jenny.  Mrs. Lynn opened the door to call the girls out but halted when she saw him. 

                “Who are you? Go back to your seat!”  She snapped.  He ducked behind a clothing rack and she heard a door closing. 

                “He likes you,” Angelica Jones, dressed as an Orange Bishop, said to her in a small but knowing voice.

                Angelica had handed Hank the note for her that night.  It had her address written on it, along with an instruction to write to her. 

                “Where you followed?”  Hank asked her, almost carefully.  Like he wasn’t sure how to speak to someone when nearly all of their relationship had been written down. 

                Alex looked behind her, already knowing that no one was aware she was gone.  She turned back to him.  “I doubt it.”

                “Good.”  They walk to meet each other, Hank holding out a map.  “Can you read a map?” She murmured in the affirmative.  “I think we should go half way to day and half way tomorrow.  Sound alright?” 

                “Sounds great Bozo.”  She said, using her affectionate insult. 

                “Let’s go.”  Hank said and Alex followed, not looking back. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so just ignore in the last chapter where i said she had his letters. i messed up.

                “Are you thirsty?”  They had been traveling for nearly an hour before Hank asked her that.  Neither of them was one for words.

                “Not really.”  Alex told him, having made sure to drink plenty of water and eat a big breakfast that morning.  

                “Well if you do, stick a pebble in your mouth and suck on it.  I’ve read that the spit can quench your thirst.”  He informed her.   They were walking along something that was either a large stream or a small river with slippery rocks.  Hank would occasionally stop and check his compass before they continued on their way, making good time. 

\---------------------------------

                In a clearing he pulled up a bunch of grass.  “Here’s a trick, Scout Master Xavier taught me this, throw grass in the air to see which direction the wind is blowing.”  He tossed it up directly over their heads and the grass came right back down.  Alex smirked her usual smirk at him. 

                “We could see which direction my lighter goes,” she suggested, already flicking the flame on.  It tilted to the east. 

                “That’s a good idea too.   Scout Master Xavier doesn’t actually seem to know a lot about the outdoors anyway.  When we saw a deer he started explaining the genetics of the pattern on its hide.”  Hank nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.  “Good explanation, interesting, but not what was called for at the time.” 

\----------------------------------

                Hank stood on the edge of river they had just crossed, and helped Alex up.  It was harder for her to balance because of the style of her bags.  He was leaned over, hand gripping her elbow and her waist, helping her onto the bank.  When she stepped upwards, both of them careful, he caught a whiff of something.  “Are you wearing perfume?”  He asked.  Could this girl get any better?

                “It’s my mothers.” 

\--------------------------------

                Hank set up the fishing rod for her, as neither of her parents had ever taken them camping and so she didn’t know how.  He sat at the water’s edge with her, downstream enough that if the hook did swirl to him it wouldn’t reach him, but close enough that they could talk easily.   His feet were in the clear water and his long legs and awkward position made it so that his knees were higher than his hips. 

                Alex stood at the fishing pole, wearing a leather jacket and plaid skirt.  He was so glad to have gotten bored of that play.   He liked Scout Master Xavier, and a few of the kids were alright, but other than that, he was happy to be gone.  Gone with her.  He was sorry to only have been able to take a few books with him, but he had needed the room for supplies.  In his letter of resignation he asked that they be given to Ororo, as she had been alright to him and had expressed an interest in what he was reading more than once.  The posters went to Sean Cassidy, because he was also alright and had a talent with drawing.  

                It was around noon but the drifting breeze and the shadows that the trees casted made it seem later in the day.  “Where should we go after this?”  Alex asked him.

                “I don’t know.  Maybe we could head out to California?  Or we could head to New York City.  Howard Stark has labs there.  He might be willing to hire me since he knew my dad.”  They had collaborated on a few papers on nuclear energy together, and they always seemed to be on good terms.  It was possible that he would hire Hank, or at least offer some assistance. 

                “California sounds nice.  Or maybe we should leave the country.  Go someplace it’s always sunny.”  She mused.

                “We’ll figure it out.”  Hank assured.  The moment was broken by the fishing pole jerking.  

                “I got one!” she exclaimed.

                “Reel it in, slowly.”  He instructed.

                “I know enough about fishing to know _that_ , Hank,” Alex grouched, already doing what he had said.

                “Right.  Sorry.”

                “It’s cool, big foot.”  She assured.  At first the nicknames had bothered him, but he had grown use to them, and now recognized them as her attempts to show affection.   She crowed in victory as she pulled up a midsized fish, thrashing from the river.  

                Hank hurried to help her get it off the hook.  Once he had it in his hands he began gutting it, reminded off the illustrations he had seen of dissections. Out he popped the eyeballs.  There went the kidneys.

                Alex watched as Hank gutted it.  She wasn’t squeamish about it at all.  Which was good.  Hank didn’t care for squeamishness when something had to be done.  His parents, farmers from Illinois, had taught him that.   He dropped the fish in the skillet that they had already had out, waiting for Alex to light the premade fire with her lighter.  He started frying it the way he had watched his mother do it, those times when fish was the cheaper option.  His parents had grown up during the depression, and they didn’t forget. 

                He held the skillet out for Alex to hold while he rummaged through his bag, finding the salt and pepper.  Hank added a dash of salt and ground some pepper on it before taking back the skillet and flipping the white piece of cooked fish.  “Get the plates out of my bag.” He told her, focusing on the fish.  She rifled through the pack before finding the plates and utensils, throwing the latter on the nearest flat rock and holding out the plates to him.  He slid the chunk onto one before dousing the fire.  He didn’t want anyone to see the smoke.  Alex cut the fish into two roughly equal parts and transferred one to the other plate.

                They ate in contented silence.  Neither of them were social butterflies.  Hank had learned early on that when around people who weren’t his loving parents, it was best to just stay silent.  He couldn’t mess something up if he never tried to talk.  Alex was just not one for talking.  Screaming, sure, on occasion. 

                It was getting dark and Hank laid out set up the tent, showing Alex how it was done.  As night fell they sat on the rocks near the water’s edge, talking absent mindedly.  “Maybe in a few years when we’re both eighteen we could go to Europe.  No one would ever find us there.” 

                “I want to go to college.”  Hank reminded her.

                “After you go to college then.  Doesn’t matter.” She said agreeably “Too bad you’ll have to wait till your eighteen to go.”              

                “Not necessarily.  We could get fake identities.”  He suggested, draped over a fallen tree trunk and tracing the constellations with his eyes. 

                “Like spies?” She grinned.

                “Exactly like spies.”

 

\-----------------------------------

 

                They lay in their bedrolls in the tent, sounds of the forest all around them.  _It was easy, us being together._   Alex thought sleepily.   Hanks eyes were shut and his breathing was even.  She let her own blue eyes drift closed, a small smile at what the morning would bring.  

 

\------------------------------------

 

                Kathrine Summers was a busy woman.  She was a lawyer, a wife, and a mother of three.  Of course, she seemed to be a wife in only name and taxes these days. In addition, one of those three was Alexandra Summers, who seemed to be as tiring as two or even three children.  

                She didn’t have the time, energy, or the young joints to be walking up and down the three story house, especially when her children seemed to enjoy the one part of the house that could only be reached by a ladder.  So, she carried a megaphone.  She would use it to call the household to meals and find people.  Scott and Gabriel were already at the table eating the grilled cheese and tomato soup she had made them.  Her _good_ children.   It felt so disloyal to think, she loved Alex, she did.   But she was _so_ exhausting.  Like now.  The girl was ignoring her dinner call.

                “Alex, I’m not going to call again.  Dinner, now!”  She spoke into the megaphone, standing at the bottom of the stairs, before she returned to the kitchen to check the still cooking sandwiches.  That had been ten minutes before, and not a peep out of the girl.  “Where is your sister?” She asked Scott.  Both the boys had inherited their father’s dark hair and her gray eyes, though Scott seemed to be covering them with sunglasses more often. 

                “I don’t know.  She took my record player without asking though.”  The nine year old told her. 

                “Why’d she do that?” Alex had stolen before, that was no great secret.  It certainly hadn’t been her who had bought her that jacket.  But she normally asked Scott before she played her records, and rarely simply took the thing. 

                “She left me a note and some money.”  He seemed sad.   Money?  Why would she leave him money?  He was holding the note out to her.

                _Scott:_

_I took your record player.  Sorry.  Here is some money for a new one, and I told Mrs. Reilly that yours broke yesterday, so she’s willing to give you a discount.  I love you both and I’m sorry for leaving you behind.  We would have taken you with us if you were older.  Maybe you will be better at it than me, but I can’t stay.  Don’t tell mom or dad._

_Love, Alex_

                Katherine read it twice before bolting out of the room, yelling into her megaphone.  “Christopher! Where the hell are you?”

                A loud thump from upstairs followed by, “Right here!   Why are you yelling?” 

                The voice was muffled but she was already opening the nearest window, setting the megaphone down, and pulling herself half out of it to look at where he was leaning out of the second story window. 

                “Alex ran away!”  She brandished the note.

                “Again?  I thought we were past this!”

                “No! This time, she took Scott’s record player and left him money to replace it!” This was not her simply stomping off into the meadow.  Christopher jerked back in shock, hitting his head with an audible thump on the window.  He groaned, rubbing it, as they heard a radio squawk. 

                Kathrine felt her heart jolt in dread.  What was he doing here?  This wasn’t planned. 

A small feminine voice could just be heard saying, “Scout Master Xavier confirms that they’ve had no luck, they’re heading home for the day.”  There was the sound of trees rustling and a car door closing.

“Whose there?”  Christopher called, still rubbing his head.

Captain Lehnsherr emerged from the shadows, still in uniform.  “Good evening.  I was just-“ He started to say.

“What are you doing here? No one called the police.”  Christopher interrupted, anger in his voice.  Though whether it was worry over Alex causing him to lash out or her husband was beginning to suspect that she had any sort of relationship with Erik, she didn’t know. 

                “I am aware.  That was what I was trying to tell you.  The search party’s not over-“  The captain again started to say, but did not get to finish.

                “Alex is missing too.  Go find her!”  Katherine told him urgently. 

                “Alex?  Where do you think-“  The captain could not catch a break.

                “I’ll come search with you.” Christopher decided, moving back into the house and closing the window.    Katherine and Erik both froze and looked at each other uncertainly. 

\--------------------------

Katherine had suggested moving to Westchester.  She hated Alaska.  So, Christopher agreed.  They packed up the kids and moved.

                That was about two years before.  She had met Erik when he responded to her report about a burglary they had had, during the time they were still moving in, Christopher moving back and forth from Alaska, getting everything settled. 

                He was handsome, if a bit shark like.  They didn’t even really like each other.  But they were a comforting presence in each other’s lives.  If she was being honest, they only occasionally had sex.  Theirs was the very opposite of a passionate affair. 

\-------------------------                     

                The car jolted on a bump in the dirt road.   The cars passengers, Captain Lehnsherr and Christopher Summers, both jerked a little, and this effectively broke the silence that they had both allowed to cloak them. 

                They had been driving down streets, headlights on, looking for the girl, but were now returning to the Summer’s residence.  “Do you have children?”  Mr. Summers asked suddenly, though his voice sounded defeated. 

                “I have twins.  They’re four.”  Erik said, not caring to share much.  

                “Either of them girls?” 

                “One.  Her name is Wanda.”  His children had their mother’s features but he liked to think that his little girl had his scowl. 

                “Girls are hard.  They always say that boys cause the most trouble but girls are a whole ‘nother animal,”  The other man said, almost to himself.  “I don’t know how to help her.  It’s just gotten worse.” 

                Erik didn’t know how to respond to that.  He could only imagine if Wanda became like the girl that Katherine had described.  Angry.  Violent.  It sounded like his younger self, but something had triggered his rage.  This girl simply had it.

                If Wanda or Pietro became like that, he wouldn’t know what to do either. Angry runaway daughter.   Cheating distant wife. Erik would pity the man, if he could bring himself to care.  As it was, he could not.  Erik hadn’t cared about a lot, not in at least four years, probably for twenty.  

                “Whose fault is it?”  Mr. Summers asked him, as though he suddenly remember that there was someone else in the car but was still forgetting that they hardly knew each other.  

                Erik hesitated before he decided to give him something comforting.  “Ninety-five percent of all runaways return home in less than six hours.  She’s probably hiding in the closet of her best friend’s room and playing Chinese checkers right now.”

                “She doesn’t have any friends.”  Mr. Summers replied.  And who knew how long Alex had been gone?

                He considered asking after Katherine before thinking better of it.  Who would be feeling anything other than worry in a time like this?  Asking about her would only lead to more suspicion. 

                They pulled up to the three story red house with the little white fence and before either of the men had opened their doors, the porch light was flicking on.  Christopher and Erik walked up the path together as Katherine ran out of the house holding a shoe box.  “She has a pen pal!”  She shouted breathlessly as she hurried down the front steps to meet them.  “It’s very intimate.  They planned this together.”  Katherine held the open box out so that they could both see that it was brimming with envelopes and post cards.  Erik took out one of the letters and studied the return address. 

                “Hank McCoy.  That’s the runaway Khaki Scout.”   He said aloud, but talking mainly to himself.  

                Christopher began flipping through a stack of envelopes and papers, all different colors.  Post cards from different states.  Each with the same cramped hand writing.  He stopped suddenly.  “Holy Christ.  ‘The flame of your heart/Even at this distance /I can feel the sparks’ what the hell is this?” he demanded, reading aloud from a post card with the grand canyon on it. 

                “He writes poems.  About six months ago he started experimenting with haikus.  Mostly about nature, but some are very erotic!” Katherine explained.  She didn’t seem particularly upset about that particular fact. 

                Erik swept his eyes over the vast amounts of letters.  “What does he say?”  He asked over Christopher’s shoulder.

\----------------------------------

                The history of Alex and Hank’s correspondence, told through select letters:

_Dear Alex: Your voice is superb and you were my favorite animal in the program by far.  You can write to me at this return address, but it may change.-_

****

**Dear Hank,**

**Thank you.  I was demoted because I yelled at Mrs. Flynn and now I am only a blue jay.  It is not so bad as the rehearsals for blue jays aren’t as long as the ones for ravens, plus there is some cool makeup.  I was born in Hawaii but raised in Alaska.  What was Illinois like? My favorite subject is-**

_Dear Alex: I am sorry you feel that way.  Maybe Scott doesn’t realize that you are self-conscious about your grades.  Sometimes people do things without realizing it-_

**Dear Hank,**

**I’m sorry about Harvard.  Maybe you can try again next year?  You are very smart and deserved to get in, and I wish SS had signed the forms.  Why are you writing poems?-**

_Dear Alex: I read that they were good mental exercise.  I will try again next year.  If anything, I know that there will be a spot waiting for me when I’m eighteen.-_

**Dear Bozo,**

**I found a pamphlet about raising a problem child on top of the fridge.  Sometimes I swear I could just-**

_Dear Alex: I accidentally set fire to the kitchen doing an experiment.  I put it out almost immediately but Mr. Cantor thinks I did it on purpose.  I feel trapped even though I don’t stay with one family for long.  I am pretty sure I hear him on the phone now with SS.  I wonder which state I’ll be sent-_

**Dear Sasquatch,**

**I am in trouble because I threw a rock through a window.  I didn’t know what else to do.  My mother is still picking glass out of her hair.  Also-**

_Dear Alex: I am not very good at making friends.  I cannot talk to people like I talk to you.  I am afraid that they think I think I am better than them, but I don’t know how to fix it.-_

**Dear Ronald McDonald,**

**I am suspended because I got in a fight with Madelyne Prior. She says I go berserk.  My teacher told the principle that all I do is cause havok.-**

_Dear ‘Havok’: The second law of thermodynamics is that in a natural thermodynamic process, the sum of the entropies of the participating thermodynamic systems increases.  Entropies is commonly known as a measure of disorder.  There is always more chaos, and that upsets people-_

**Dear Hank,**

**Merry Christmas! I hope you like the notebook.   I tried to find the biggest one I could for you.  I have bought Scott a pair of red sunglasses I’ve seen him looking at and a book on Volcanos for Gabriel.  I am uncertain what to get for my parents.  They have hardly looked at any of us, let alone each other, in weeks, so I can’t exactly ask them-**

_Dear Alex: I don’t know what you should get them.  Maybe some books?  I am sorry I am not more help.  I am also sorry that they hurt your feelings, but they do still love you and your brothers.  That is more important than-_

**Dear Hank,**

**I do think you should think of their faces everyday even if it makes you sad.  It is too bad they did not have more pictures of themselves.  Can you-**

_Dear Havok:  I am moving back to New York.  The Donaldson’s decided they couldn’t keep me.  That is alright.  I am moving to a group home run by some people called the Shaws.  If nothing goes wrong I can sign back up for Camp Grey, and I will see you in three months. ‘If nothing goes wrong’ I hate being a foster kid. I am-_

**Dear Bigfoot,**

**I can’t wait to see you!  How will you sneak away though?  I feel like I am about to explode and I hate exploding.  I never explode the way I want to.  In story’s explosions always change things.  Mine don’t and I’m-**

_Dear Havok: Sneaking away should be easy, it’s getting back that’s the problem.  Of course, if I didn’t plan on going back-_

**Dear Hank,**

**You had me at not going back.  How would we do it?**

_Dear Alex:  My plan is-_

**Dear Hank,**

**Let’s do it.-**

_Dear Alex: When?_

**Dear Hank,**

**The first week of September.  Where?-**

_Dear Alex:  I know a place we can head to first.  I’ll find us another place for after that.  We can plan on the way.   On the day we go, walk four hundred yards due north from your house to the dirt path that is not labeled on any of my maps.  Turn right and follow it to the end.  I will meet you in the meadow._

**\------------------------------**

                Erik, Katherine, and Christopher were all sitting on the porch scanning through the letters, gaining more insight into a fourteen year old girl and boy than they’d ever thought they’d have.  All three adults had looked over Captain Lehnsherr’s shoulder when he had made a triumphant noise.  “I think I found the big planning one.” 

                Their eyes scanned the letter as one, all coming to rest on _meadow_ at about the same time.

 

\---------------------------------

 

The morning dawned easily.  She knew that because they were up before it.   Hank tossed her a granola bar when she crawled out of the tent, bleary eyed and wearing the same clothes from yesterday.  She wanted to save the clean ones. 

                She had woken up to the sound of him unzipping their tent, but more importantly, the fact that he was no longer there to provide warmth.  She had allowed herself to listen to him moving around the camp, clearing it up, before dragging herself outside to join him. The sky was barely more than a smudge of dark grey. She caught the granola bar easily and began eating as they worked, taking down the tent and rolling up the bedrolls.   The air was chilled and the sun was a welcome warmth when finally it came, weakly, through the trees. 

                They began walking again, as both of them wanted to reach the first place on their map.  First, Isle marker 3.25 tidal inlet.  Then, they would head a little further south.  There was another place that Hank had found, scouring maps.  They would decide from there.  They were trying to hurry now, knowing that there would be search parties.  A Khaki Scout that had run away, that wasn’t even a local, was one thing, but a girl from town gone missing?  They both knew how that information would cut through town, the way people would drop what they were doing to be the first to tell someone else. 

                They were making good time, and by the time it was about seven they had already begun walking. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

                Nobody had really slept the night before.  The Summer’s were kept up by worry and nagging guilt over what they had read in the letters.  Neither of them bothered to actually get in bed, though Katherine had sent the boys to their room.  Eventually Christopher went out to search again and Katherine gave into her weariness and fell asleep at the table, and when she was back Christopher was clutching a steak to his face. 

                Erik had called Charles to inform him of this development and then began the necessary paper work and phone calls.  This kept him up to the early hours of the morning.  When finally he did crawl in in bed, he began to worry over Wanda and Pietro.  He tossed and turned, imagining a world where when finally he did get to see them again they were half grown and hated him.  He finally threw the covers off at a little after 6 AM, making a cup of coffee and getting dressed. 

                Charles had been in bed, but the call had woken him up.  He spent the rest of the night resting fitfully, waking up more than sleeping.  

                The Summers, Captain Lehnsherr, Scout Master Xavier, Raven, and all members of Camp Grey were in the meadow bright and early because of this.  

                Christopher Summers, with two of the biggest shiners Charles had ever seen, wandered around, almost in a daze.  Katherine stood, arms crossed across her chest, sharp eyes skimming the tall grass for signs of her eldest child and the boy who was apparently, her best friend. 

                Raven and Charles stood next to each other, neither speaking.  Erik stood off to the side, observing the scouts.  A red headed boy and a black girl with striking white hair stretched a string with ribbons tied to it from stake to stake, marking a perimeter.  A girl with a streak of white through her dark hair walked with a dog pulling on its leash.  Erik absentmindedly wondered if either of the girls had been burned somehow, this being the only thing he could think of to make hair grow in white.

                The rest of the scouts were scattered about, searching and scanning the field, squinting in the early morning light.   Erik’s patrol car, a station wagon, and one of the scout’s motorcycles were parked as far into the field as they could manage. 

                “What happened to him?”  Charles asked Raven quietly.  The wind was ruffling her dyed blonde hair as she leaned in closer.

                “I’m not sure.  I think he went searching in the dark.”  Both siblings watched the spoken of man stare at the dirt.  It was possible that they were louder than they thought, or the sound carried, or perhaps Mr. Summers just had excellent hearing.  Whatever it was, he must have heard them.

                “She stole the batteries out of my flashlight.” He said loudly, not looking up from the ground.  

                Charles grimaced at Raven who raised an eyebrow. 

                Erik and Katherine stood off to the side, no one noticed that they weren’t searching any more, but instead talking to each other, so quiet they were nearly inaudible.  They spoke in rapid fire succession. 

                “He suspects us.”  Erik murmured.

                “Of course he does.” She replied quickly. 

                “Are you worried?” It was her who was risking her reputation.  If worst came to worst, Erik could simply move to the next town over.  There were many towns just like this one.

                “Yes.”  She said easily.

                “Did you hit him?” 

                “No. He fell in a ditch.” They hardly looked at each other.  Erik’s own eyes were trained on the handsome Scout Master.

                A scout popped out of the grass, a few yards from Erik and Katherine.  A black boy, about thirteen, clutching something white in his hand.  “I found something!” He called, waving it in the air, the adults already traipsing over to him.  “It’s a sock!”

                Christopher was the first to reach him, taking the sock and studying it.  It was white, ruffled on the end, and would have come to just below the knee. “It’s hers alright,” he said flatly before turning and walking away, throwing the sock over his shoulder as he did.  Darwin caught it with one hand, all of them watching the man walk away with his hands in his pockets.    

                “Where’s he going?” Charles asked Katherine. 

                “I don’t know.” She had already started walking down the hill after her husband. 

                Erik turned to the rest of the group, making decisions quickly.  “We know they’re together.  We know they’re within a certain radius of this spot.  I’m declaring this case with the county.  Until help arrives,” he paused for a moment, making brief eye contact with Charles that he would count as permission, “I’m deputizing the ginger, the short mean looking girl, and the blonde boy,” he pointed at Sean, Angel, and Warren, “To come with me in the station wagon. Charles, you drop-in and head up-river with the rest of your troop, then split-up on foot. Raven, call Jed and tell him to circle over this end of the island and fly low.”

 

\------------------------------

 

                Hank had handed Alex the binoculars from his pack, as they weren’t very compatible with his glasses.   The stood behind a group of rocks that gave them a very good vantage point to see nearly everything they had already traveled, and was still covered by trees, which was good, because a plane had flown low over their heads not ten minutes before. 

                She was watching the way some of the scouts fanned out, and the boat that held more scouts and a man.  Scout Master Xavier, obviously.   There was also a police car that had recently pulled up. Two of the scouts, one with a shock of white hair, got out of the boat and began pocking at something.  Alex watched as they stripped the canoe of camouflage.  “They found the canoe.”

                Hank scowled for a moment, angry with himself.  “I knew have put more pine needles.  We should keep moving.” He said quickly, anger already fading away in the knowledge that they were close to their destination. 

                Alex nodded and handed him back his binoculars, the hand that hasn’t gripping the handle of her case holding her lighter.

                They walked down a narrow path through a thicket, emerging in a small clearing, suddenly stopping dead in their tracks.

                In the clearing below them there were boys and girls, all in uniform.  Betsy, Sean, and Pyro all stood with the archery sets that Scout Master Xavier had been instructing them with.  Bobby and Angel both held knives.  Anna Marie stood off to the back, holding back a growling Logan.   A motorcycle roared and Azazel burst into the clearing, popping a wheelie and skidding to a stop. 

                The motor idled as they all watched each other.   Alex was doing something with her case that Hank didn’t look at, afraid to take his eyes off his ex-fellow scouts for even a minute.  

                “What do you creeps want?” He finally asked, gathering all of his courage. 

                “Were looking for you, comrade.”  Azazel said, with a callous smile.  

                “Why?” Hank wasn’t stupid.  He was a minor.  He wasn’t just allowed to up and walk away from summer camp.  But as long as they were talking, they weren’t using the weapons they had brought. 

                “Because you’re a fugitive.” 

                “No I’m not.  I resigned from the Khaki Scouts.” Hank was saying anything to keep them all from violence.  Alex had stopped fussing with her case.

                “Well, it doesn't matter, anyway. You don't have that authority. We've been deputized. Now are you going to come along peacefully or not?” The Russian accent making the words sound slightly rough. 

                “Look, let’s be logical about this.   You don’t like me, I don’t like you.  So why don’t you assholes just let us go?” He reasoned, pulling out the language he had heard the other boys in the home say dozens of times.

                Azazel paused, seeming to consider.  “It’s tempting, but I really cannot allow that.” 

                Angel met Alex’s eyes.  “You shouldn’t be friends with him you know.”   The dark skinned girl said to the fair one.

                “Why not?” Alex asked, seeming offended on Hank’s behalf.

                “Because he’s crazy,” Angel explained.

                “What would you know about being crazy?”  Alex asked.  Hank wasn’t sure what she meant.

                “We know more about him than you do.  He’s emotionally disturbed because his family died.  Pyro, tie him up.”  Azazel ordered.  Pyro advanced towards Hank, rope in his hand.  Alex looked furious.  Hank grabbed the air rifle off his back pack, aiming at Pyro.  

                Neither Alex nor the scouts seemed sure what to do.  Hank, gun still pointed firmly at Pyro, said darkly, “do not. Cross. This. Stick.”  He indicated the branch that was between the groups of teens.  

                “You’re doomed, McCoy.” Azazel told him simply, before revving his bike’s engine, popping the clutch.     All of the scouts but Anna Marie, who was desperately trying to hold on to Logan, converged, yelling and screaming as they all ran towards them. 

                Hank had only a second to see Alex, looking like a cornered animal. 

                There was a crash, a girl’s shriek, and then one high pitched scream of pain.  Hank’s ears were still ringing, his glasses had been knocked off, there was smoke in the air, but he was still able to make out the sight of khaki clothed figures running away, followed by another figure with, stumbling after them, clutching its side. 

                When he finally picked his glasses off the forest floor and put them on, he found the clearing empty, except for Alex, standing where they had been watching the search party only minutes before.  She was holding a knife covered in blood, and the remains of Azazel’s prized motorcycle hung in the branches of the tree across from her.  Hank took the knife and cleaned it gently like his father had taught him to, the one disastrous time he had decided to teach his boy how to slaughter a pig. 

                Handing the knife back to Alex, he said the only thing he could think of.  “You didn’t kill him, so it’s alright.  He was even able to run away without any help.” 

                Alex nodded and turned away from the bike slowly, her eyes falling on something past Hank.   “Oh no!”  She pointed at what she had seen, making Hank turn to see it as well.  It was Logan, lying on his side, an arrow through his neck.  Alex, having seen him first, was already running towards the dead or nearly dog. 

                Hank followed, joining her where she was kneeled by Logan.  The dog was dead.  

                “Should we bury him?”  Alex asked, eyes still distant. 

                “We don’t have a shovel or the time.  Let’s keep moving.” 

 

\--------------------------

 

                The station wagon lurched as Erik took the turn quickly, twelve scouts and two grown men crammed inside.  The boat had been abandoned.  Azazel groaned in the back, where he was lying down with Charles tending to him.  The boy would occasionally mutter in Russian, presumably pronunciations of pain and cursing.  Erik was on the radio with Jed, the man who brought supplies in by plane.  They were about five minutes away from the dock, and driving at top speed.

                “Stab wound. Lower lumbar.  Make room for a stretcher in the cockpit.” He had to shout over the general noise of eleven healthy teens and one injured one. 

                “I tried to chop him but he dodged my tomahawk.”  Angel said to the others, the adults busy with making sure a fifteen year old didn’t bleed out in the car. 

                “Who else got hit?” Warren asked.

                “Not me.  I ran away when the girl went berserk.” Replied Bobby.

                “Where’s Logan?”  Anna Marie asked suddenly, when she realized she had lost the dog in the panic. 

                No one had the chance or inclination to answer her as they pulled up to the dock, where Katherine, Christopher, and Jed were waiting.   The plane had quite clearly just pulled up and there were two bicycles abandoned on the ground near the dock. 

                Jed hurried over with a stretcher, helping Charles, Sean, and Darwin get Azazel out of the car.  

                “What’s happened?  Why’s he bleeding?”  Mr. Summers asked, walking quickly with the group down the dock. 

                They began lowering Azazel down to the where the plane rested on the water. 

                “Is Alex with you?”  Mrs. Summer’s asked urgently. 

                “No, she’s in the woods with Hank.”  Ororo told her.  The girl pointed to the hills in the distance to make it clearer.

                “Where’m I going?”  Jed asked, putting the boy in the plane.

                “The infirmary at Fort Agent. We'll be right behind you.” Erik instructed him.

                “Warm up the motor. I'll be right back.”  Erik told Charles, who took the keys and started untying the police launch. Erik turned towards his office.

                “Hold it right there. You're not leaving this town. Our daughter's been abducted by one these beige lunatics.”  Christopher told him firmly, years of military leadership kicking in.

                “It’s clear that these two planned this together.”  Erik reminded him. 

                “Don’t worry, Mr. Summers.  She’ll be safe.  Hank’s very smart and has excellent wilderness skills.”  Charles tried to reassure, perhaps not choosing as comforting a choice of words as he had thought.  Christopher exploded.

                “Why can’t you control your scouts?”  He yelled at the mild mannered Scout Master, who visibly flinched and recoiled.

                “I’m trying.”  Charles said quietly. 

                Christopher took his shoe off and threw it at the other man, hitting him in the hip, and causing an explosion of activity.  Erik tried to block the much smaller man from another attack, getting into a scuffle with the former air force pilot. 

                Katherine jerked her husband backward by the arm, “Stop!” 

                The scouts watched, frozen, near the gang plank.  Charles seemed to be staring at the dock, depressed.  Erik and Christopher stared at each other, breathing heavily. 

                “I do blame him,” Erik said, pointing at Charles, “but I also blame the both of you. With all due respect: you can't let your children stab people.”  His slight accent was coming back.

                Katherine hesitated before she asked, “What are you talking about?”

                Charles seemed to come out of his daze.  “She's violent, Mrs. Summers. Look.”  He showed her the blood on his hands and uniform.  This seemed to confuse Katherine.

                “Are you saying Alex did this? Were there any witnesses?” She questioned.

                “Yes, and many.  It’s assault.”  He told her.

                “I beg your pardon. Are you a lawyer?” She demanded, advancing towards him.

                “No, but-“

                “Well I am!” She shouted furiously, causing Erik to catch her by the shoulder.

                “Easy, Katherine.” 

                “Stay away from my wife.”  Christopher pushed Erik away from Katherine into Charles.  Charles lunged at Christopher, patience running out, but was held back by Katherine and Erik.  There were shouts of ‘Dammit!’, ‘Christ!’, ‘Shit!’, and ‘Jesus!’ from all of them. 

                The Scouts watched as the adults all stood there in the tussle, nobody noticing the dark haired man in a suit who had appeared behind them.  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” He called, finally breaking through their cursing.  They all turned to face him, grips on shirts and arms loosening. 

                The man stood on the center of the dock, holding a notebook.  “As some of you know, I taught Hank for the cartography Accomplishment Patch. He's a smart boy, and he expressed a keen interest in the history of the coasts indigenous peoples. In particular, I recall his fascination with the idea of retracing the original path of the old Chickchaw harvest migration.”  The man told them, not even introducing himself. 

                There was a long pause, everyone looking around perplexed.  The sea plane chose that moment to take off, spraying them all with water. 

                When it became clear that no one understood why he was telling them this, he explained; “my point is, I think I know where they’re going.”  

               


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a completely consenting hand job between two fourteen year olds and a slight discussion about it in this chapter. TBH it was hard to write because it was happening in the dark and i was trying to convey that this was a real thing that they were doing but that they had no clue what they were doing. like they know WHAT theyre doing, but theyre fourteen in 1965. They have no reliable resources.

_Hank sure knows how to pick a pit stop_ , Alex thought, sitting on the beach.  An album was playing, not her favorite, but it suited the mood.  They had sat on the pebbles and white sand at the water’s edge for ten minutes after arriving, dropping their bags and kicking off their shoes. 

The cove was enclosed by a low, rocky cliff. It formed almost a complete circle and was overgrown with vines, flowers, and branches. A thin channel led out to the ocean.  The water was perfectly clear and they could see the shells at the bottom.  _I have to have one of those._ Alex thought, imagining carrying it with her wherever they went.  There was a small flat rock out in the middle of the water.

                It was around noon, the water gently lapping at the shore and the birds echoing, flying from tree to tree.  Hank set up the tent quickly on a low, sandy plateau close to the water, Alex collecting shells from along the water’s edge and lining them up in two rows, marking the entrance. 

                Finally, the work done, they could hardly resist the sirens call of that crystal clear water another moment.  They looked at each other, standing on the beach, Alex grinning and Hank smiling in that shy hesitant way of his. 

                “Do you want to swim?” He asked, needlessly. 

                “Let’s jump!”  She called, already running to one end of the cove, climbing onto the rocks that hung out over the water.  Hank did the same, running to the rocks that were opposite hers.  They both began to strip themselves of clothes, throwing them in the water so that they washed up on the shore.  Alex hurried to step out of her shoes, leaving herself exposed in her bra and panties.  She felt all the more naked without her lighter, which was hanging on a Y shaped stick planted firmly in the sand by the tent.  Finally, leaving her leather jacket on the rocks with her shoes and tossing her last white ruffled sock in the crystal clear water, she looked across to see Hank standing in his boxers and an undershirt, squinting without his glasses.

                “On three!” He shouts.

                “One. Two. Three! She counted quickly, both of them jumping in screaming at about the same time.  The water was cold, and Alex gasped when she resurfaced, hair plastered to her face.  Hank broke the surface just after she did, both of them treading water.  

                Both of the young teens laughed and began paddling around, relishing the feeling of no one they knew knowing where they were, and no one knowing who they were wherever they were going. 

\-------------------------------

                Once they had finally dragged themselves up on shore, Alex with several shells in her hand, collected and rinsed the sand out of their clothing and hung them up to dry on the clothesline that Hank pulled out of his bag like Mary Poppins, it was nearing the end of the day.  They were both still in their slightly damp underwear.

                Hank had popped open some canned peaches, neither of them wanting to bother with fishing.   Their bellies full with the delicious syrupy sweet fruit, they sat on a patch of grass above the tent.  Hank had never sat so close to a girl before, and he certainly had never seen one in her underwear before.  Not in real life, anyway.  His underwear was still wet and see through in some parts, as was hers.  He was trying very hard to look at her face. 

                “I like it here.” Alex said decisively, but added; “Its name is stupid though.” Hank was inclined to agree with her on that one. 

                “It is pretty unimaginative.  What should we call it?” His voice was sleepy, though his mind was not.

                “I dunno.  Maybe Krakoa?” She suggested, as though testing the way the word felt on her tongue.

                The place just didn’t feel like a Krakoa.  “How about Olympia? Home of the gods!” Hank countered.  Alex wrinkled her nose. 

                “We’ll figure it out.” She declared, not commenting on Hank’s apparently not up to par idea. 

\------------------------

                Alex lay flat on her back on the small flat rock, staring at the star filled night sky.  She fiddled with the cool lighter in her hand, retrieved from the stick, not bothering to turn her head when she heard Hank splashing out to her, only shifting over so that he could climb onto the rock. 

                “I made you some earrings.” He held up two dangling disk earrings, both of them seeming to have rings of metal worked into them.  Alex wasn’t certain how to describe it, but she loved them.  There were even rings of red.  “Are your ears still pierced?” He asked, obviously remembering when Alex had pierced her ears at home with an ice cube, half an apple, and a needle. 

                “Yeah.  How did you make ‘em?” She asked, still studying them. 

                “They’re fish hooks, but I cut off the hook parts so that they didn’t hurt.  I brought pliers so that we can just bend them to keep them in.”  He handed her the earrings and pulled out a pair of small pliers and a mirror from his pocket.  Alex hurried to push them in, ignoring the way the wires hurt.  Hank would fix it in a minute.  He held up the small pocket mirror, and she squinted to see herself by the light of the full moon.  What she could see was beautiful.  Every piece of jewelry she had ever been given was delicate.  

                “I love them.”  She graced him with a full beaming grin, making him smile back so hard it probably hurt.  Her own smile hurt.  Both of their smiles were rare, but for different reasons.  Alex was often smirking, or scowling.  Hank didn’t like his teeth showing, being self-conscience about them being crooked. 

\--------------------

The moon was bright on the sand and they stood in their underwear, freshly soaked from their swim back to the beach.  The record player was playing some music. The lighter had been returned to its stick.  Alex, more forward than Hank, made the first move.  She drew closer to him, taking one of his hands and placing it on the gray area between hip and waist and back, low enough to tell him that it was okay to go lower.  Her hand went on his shoulder, and their other hands held each other.  Wet underwear and dancing so close you had almost total skin to skin contact apparently made you capable of feeling everything going on with someone’s body.  Alex knew that her nipples were like pebbles, from the cold and excitement.  She did not step back or look down when she felt other things begin to respond.

They were skin to skin.  Hank was taller than her, so much taller.  His chest was bony and his chin just rested on her head, and Alex pressed her ear to his heart so that she could hear it beating faster than a race horse through his shirt. 

For the longest moments of either of their lives the only sound was the music and the water and the crickets.  Alex pulled away slightly, so that while they still touched, they were looking at each other.  “You can kiss me.  If you want to.”  She offered quietly. 

And he did.  Neither of them had ever really kissed someone before, Alex having had only one dissatisfying adventure in French kissing with a boy in her class when she was thirteen.  This, while awkward and unskilled on both their parts, was much better.  With new found confidence Hank’s hands began to rove, sliding hesitantly down to her butt, but only cupping when she adjusted his hand with her own.  His other hand, she slipped under her bra.

Alex learned about sex from tawdry romance novels, the only books she ever read, stolen from the grocery store and her mother.  They were full of ripped bodices and heaving bosoms, and the men were all muscular and knew what they were doing when they carried the heroine to the bed before ravishing her.  The heroine had never been with anyone before, except perhaps an ex-lover written to create tension, but she was always good.  She knew that she could do things with her hands, maybe, and one book had detailed something she could do with her mouth.  Unfortunately, she had no hope of doing it properly, and had read mainly of the man on top of the woman.  She was not going to try that, as her mother, someone who was somewhat progressive, had told her that she could get pregnant from sex.  What was sex? It was how babies got made, you’ll understand when you’re older. 

Alex very much wanted to understand at that moment.   Hank did to, if him resuming the kissing, hands remaining in their adjusted spots, was anything to judge by.  She shifted to slightly grind her hips into his, eliciting a moan.  The touching was good, like the books said it would be.  It was Hank who broke the kiss this time, though he seemed unwilled to stop.  “I don’t… What am I supposed… I… Do you want me to… I don’t know what to do next.  Do you want to do something next? We can keep doing this if you want.”  He told her uncertainty. 

“I want to keep going.  But I know something I could do.  With my hand.”  Alex offered, fingers holding the waistband of his underwear.  Hank seemed unable to reply, but simply nodded quickly.  She got on her knees, slightly to the side of him.  She pulled his under wear down to his thighs, revealing what the books had called length and cock and manhood and biology class had called the male sex organ and penis.  None of those words felt comfortable. The books might not have helped her vocabulary, but they did tell her that she was supposed to use a lubricant of some type. Alex spit in her hand quietly before wrapped her hand around the erection, making him gasp, and gave it a tentative squeeze.  She was glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see the uncertainty on her face.  In the book, it was the earl doing it to himself, thinking about catching the milkmaid swimming.  She tried to do what he had done, moving her hand up and down.  Was she supposed to go faster? Slower? Was this at all enjoyable for him? 

It was possible that their lack of experience made it better.  She might have been unskilled, but Hank didn’t know that.  With that thought, Alex grew more confident, listening to Hank’s pants and moans.  She experimentally brushed her thumb along the head while still moving the other hand.  “Alex, I’m gonna-“ He groaned, his body jerking and shuddering against hers, white stuff that the books always referred to as seed squirting from the end in two or three waves. 

Alex pulled her hand back, glancing down to see that the stuff had gotten on her.  She stood up, the sand stinging at her knees.  

They stood there, suddenly wrung out.  He trembled and panted, eventually calming himself enough to pull up his shorts and tug off his wet t-shirt, offering it to her.  “To get it off with.  I’m sorry that I got it on you.”  He said shyly.  Alex knew, even in the pitch black night, that his cheeks were probably bright red with shame and embarrassment.  

“It’s alright.  I kinda knew it was gonna happen,” she hadn’t been aware there would be quite so much of it though.   She took the offered shirt gratefully and wiped the sticky whitish stuff away before handing it back to him.  He wiped the parts where it got on him before they slipped back inside the tent by unspoken mutual agreement, where a lantern cast shadows wildly. 

He changed into an under shirt and dry boxers, and she changed into a different set of underwear, not turned away from each other but neither expressly looking.  All of the underclothing was rinsed in the ocean before hung on the line.  Both of them were exhausted, minds whirring from the eventful day, and they climbed into their bedrolls without much discussion, both teens saying goodnight quietly.   Both of them slept on their stomachs, hips brushing.   Hank fell asleep first, Alex soon after, her right hand under his left hand. 

\--------------

                They had decided to hold off until daylight.  Erik had offered Charles his couch to sleep in, and said that Ororo, Sean, Darwin, and Warren could all sleep on the floor.  They had taken him up on the offer, allowing the other scouts to stay at the camp alone.  What difference would it make, at this point?

                It was around one am when Charles finally gave up on sleeping and slipped outside to the dock, full moon lighting the way.  He was out there about ten minutes before he heard the quite footsteps of someone too large to be only fifteen.  Erik.  Charles wasn’t sure when Captain Lehnsherr had become Erik, but it felt wrong to continue with the formality after the past hellish four days.  Erik sat next to him on the dock, dangling his feet off the sides, the dock built just high enough that their feet wouldn’t get wet. 

                “Can’t sleep old friend?” The Englishman asked amicably. 

                “Afraid not.  I’m glad that this will be over soon.”  Erik answered, not nearly as biting as he had been when he had answered the radio. 

                Charles wasn’t stupid.  He knew that there was something going on between Katherine Summers and Erik, but as they seemed to be completely apathetic to each other over all, he couldn’t guess as to what. 

                “Where do you think he’ll go?  Hank, I mean.” Charles murmured.

                “Where ever the system can place him.  If what I understand of this is correct, this is hardly Hank’s first foster family to drop him.”  Erik had zero faith in the system of any government, but especially not the American system of government.  A side effect of his time in the camps, he supposed. 

                Charles didn’t reply to the grim pronouncement. 

\------------------------

                “Alex?  Are you awake?”  Hank’s whisper woke her up.  It was hard to sleep on a hard surface anyway. 

                “Yeah.  What is it?”  She whispered back, before remembering that there was absolutely no need to whisper. 

                Hank seemed to come to that realization as well, because his next question is moderately louder.  “Did you ever do that with anyone else?” 

                “No.  Well, I kissed Michael Rowan in seventh grade, but nothing else.” 

                “I’m sorry that I didn’t know what to do.  To make you feel good.” He told her nervously. 

                “Hank, _I_ don’t know how to make myself ‘feel good’.  It’s alright that you didn’t.  We’ll figure it out.”  She assured him honestly. 

                Hank seemed to breathe a sigh of relief before saying; “Where do you want to go?”

                “Some place warm.  Some place big.  I’d follow you anywhere, I think.” She told him simply. 

                “Would you marry me, if I asked?” 

                “Definitely.”

                They lay there in the dark for a moment or two, absorbing what they had just said. 

                “Are your foster parents still mad at you?”  Alex murmured.

                “I think we’re doing better.  Of course, that no longer matters since I’m never going to see them again.  But, yeah.  I do think it was getting better.”  Hank answered. 

                “Good.  One day, when you’re a world famous scientist, and everyone’s clamoring to write your autobiography, you’ll tell them that your last foster family was the Shaws, and that it was decent, but you ran away with some girl to travel across the continent.”  Alex joked.

                Hank chuckled before saying happily; “I love you.”

                “I love you too.”  She grinned at the roof of the tent. 

\-------------------------

                Erik called Magda before they left.  It was around six in the morning, but she would be getting ready to go to her job as a secretary and drop the twins off at their babysitters. 

                “Hello?” She answered, justifiably puzzled over who would call at such an early hour.  Her accent was much improved, and she could pass as someone who’d lived in America for decades, and not a mere six years. 

                “Magda.  It’s me.  Erik.”  He replied, watching through the window as the Summer’s arrived, their two sons in tow.  Charles, who was also outside, greeted them.

                “Erik?  Why are you calling?”  Magda’s question was laced with distrust. 

                “May I speak with them? Please.”  Erik entreated. 

                “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” She told him quickly. 

                “I swear I’ve changed Magda.  Please.  I just want to talk to them.”

                “How have you changed?  How could you have possibly changed?  I don’t want them around you Erik.  You’re bad news.”  She said angrily. 

                “I swear, I have.  I’ve calmed down a lot, I’m a police officer now.  There’s this girl Magda.  I don’t want either of them to be like her, or have her relationship with her parents.  She’s run away from home and stabbed a khaki scout!”  Erik was nearly begging now, though he would never admit it.

                “What the hell are you talking about?” Magda shouted. 

                “I don’t want them to hate us.  Just let me have a phone call.”   

                She sighed heavily.  “One phone call.  Don’t mess up.” 

                Erik grinned as he heard Magda say “It’s your daddy, do you want to talk to him?”

                “Daddy!” It was Pietro first.  Erik could picture him, dark hair that he wouldn’t allow his mother to cut and darker eyes.

                “Hello schatz.  How are you?”   He asked his son, his voice softer and kinder than many had ever heard.                 

                “Gooood.”  Erik settled into listening to his son report all of the things that had happened since he had last seen him. 

                “Mommy says its Wanda’s turn cause she wants to talk to you.  Love you Daddy!”  Pietro told him, followed by the clunk of the phone being handed over. 

                “Daddy!  Mommy says I can be a witch for Halloween, but I need a cape.” Wanda launched in immediately. 

                “I didn’t know witches had capes, Mausi.” 

                “Well, some of them do.  I’m going to have a pink dress and cape and boots!”  Wanda told him knowledgeably.

                Erik chuckled over this, asking her about preschool and pretending to be just as outraged as she was when she said that Pietro took the last cookie because he was older.

                Too soon, Magda was telling her to say goodbye.  “I love you Daddy.”  His little girl told him, before handing the phone back to her mother. 

                “Thank you.  I have to go.”  Erik managed, glancing through the window to see Charles and Christopher not seeming to know what to say to each other. 

                “I’ll think about it.  Allowing you more contact with them.”  She said suddenly before hanging up.

\------------------------

                They had slept in.  Perhaps it was the days of travel, or their growing bodies demanding rest, or the event of the previous night, but they slept in later than they had meant to. 

                It was the sound of Jed’s plane flying low over them that woke them up.   Alex’s stomach dropped in the split second before she woke up, knowing even in her barely conscious state that they were caught. 

                Hank sat up, fumbling for his glasses, and shared a look with her before crawling forward, unzipping the tent flap.  Alex was in a crouch behind him, hand holding onto his calf. 

                The tent opened, revealing Scout Master Xavier, Captain Lehnsherr, the Summer’s, Warren, Ororo, Sean, Darwin, Scott, and Gabriel. 

                Alex’s mother was still in the water, wet up to the bottoms of her knees.  Her father was standing on the beach, about twelve feet away but directly across from them.  Everyone froze for a moment before he ran towards them.  Hank yanked his head back inside, zipping the flap and retreating to Alex. 

                They put their arms around each other as her father lifted the tent over their heads, the sand offering little resistance as the stakes were pulled right out of the ground. 

                The sun hit their eyes suddenly, but Alex squinted to see.  Her father held the tent over them, and her mother was striding towards them.  They were completely out of their bedrolls, and everyone on the beach could see that they were both in their underwear. 

                Katherine grabbed her daughters arm, hauling her up and away from Hank, gathering her clothes off the line as she did.  

                Christopher tossed the tent aside and walked away, leaving Erik, Charles, and the scouts to see Hank staring after the being dragged away form of Alex Summers. 

                Scout Master Xavier approached Hank kindly and pulled his uniform off the line, handing them to the distracted boy.  He turned to his other scouts, clapped his hands twice and said; “strike this camp.” 

                Hank starts putting his socks on, under the watchful gaze of Captain Lehnsherr.

\-----------------------------

                The boat was small enough that, while they were at opposite ends of it, Hank and Alex could easily hold a conversation. 

                Alex, now dressed, sat at the back, Gabriel and Scott on either side of her and their parents across from them.  Hank sat at the front with Darwin, Warren, Sean, and Ororo.   Captain Lehnsherr was steering the boat, Scout Master Xavier standing near him.  The scouts were interrogating him. 

                “How long were you planning to stay there?” Warren asked him.

                “We were going to leave today.  We overslept.” He said numbly. 

                “Didn’t you ever think about what would happen next?”  Responsible Ororo questioned the usually also responsible Hank.

                “Not to my recollection.”  Hank almost snapped, not that anyone could really blame him.

                Alex was receiving something similar. 

                “You were just going to leave us?” Scott said so quietly that only she heard. 

                “You’re a traitor to this family.”  Gabriel told her loudly, feeling deeply betrayed for the first time in his five years. 

                “Good.  I want to be.”  She bit, half saying something to hurt them and half telling the truth.  This was no family, just some people living in a house together. 

                Charles stood near Erik, trying hard not to listen to the unhappiness around him.  He pulled an air mail envelope from his pocket and shows it to Erik, displaying who it was addressed to.  “What should I do with this?” 

                Erik shrugged grimly, earlier happiness set aside.  “Give him his mail.” Charles turned to Hank, just a few feet away, and handed the envelope to him.

                Hank tore the letter open, getting half way through reading it before Alex called to him over the engine; “What does it say?” 

                “They say they can’t invite me back.”  He called back to her.  It wasn’t much of a surprise, but he had thought they were doing better. 

                Alex was outraged.  “Why not?” She demanded. 

                “I gave them too much trouble.” Hank said, upset.  The other scouts looked guilty or uncomfortable. 

                Alex stood up, starting to walk across the boat.  “Let me read it.”  Hank held out the note to her.  Mr. Summers pulled Alex back into her seat and walked over to Hank, taking him by the wrist and leading him to the only room on the boat, a combination latrine and bunk, he opened the door and pressed Hank forward.  The boy stumbled down the stairs, and, after righting himself, stared at Mr. Summers, who shut the door.  

                Hank sat down on one of the bunks.  On the other side of the door, Christopher was being glared at by Charles and Erik, though neither of the men could match the pure unadulterated despise in the eyes of Alex. 

                “Be advised: the two of you will never see each other again. Those were your last words. Do you understand?” Her father said in a tone that brooked no argument.  Of course, Alex was still going to give him one. 

                “I’d be careful if I was you.  Someday, someone’s going to be pushed too far, and who knows what they’re capable of.”  She tells him darkly.  She meant that her mother could run away, she meant that Alex definitely will.  She meant the boy she stabbed and the fact that every fight she’s ever gotten in were just little explosions. 

                Her father hesitated for a moment before asking “is that a threat?” 

                “It’s a warning,” she said simply, her glance straying to Captain Lehnsherr and to her mother. 

\----------------------

                Charles slipped inside the room with Hank.  The tall boy was sitting with his knees above his hips, elbows on his mid-thighs.   The letter was still in his hands. 

                The Scout Master sat across from him quietly before motioning to the letter.  “I'm sorry about this. I didn't know your situation. It's not on the register.  How'd you lose your parents? I shouldn't ask that. Never mind. I wish we had time for an inspection back there. On the beach. I would've given you top marks. That was one of the best-pitched camp-sites I've ever seen.  Honestly.”  He told Hank kindly, though honestly.

                Hank didn’t respond.  Charles shifted for a minute before he asked, trying not to sound wounded, “You don’t want to be a khaki scout anymore?”

                Hank shook his head.                      


	4. Chapter 4

Raven sat at the switchboard with her headphones on. Charles and Erik sat next to her with their own headphones on. There was a click on the other end of the line. “Hello Raven.” The lady on the other end said.

                “Judy, I have your person-to-person with New Penzance.” Raven said.

                “Go ahead, New Penzance.” Judy said.

                There was a shift to the sound of the phone, different background noise. “Hello. This is Captain Lehnsherr.” Erik greeted.

                “Hello Captain Lehnsherr. This is Emma Frost with social services. I am calling in reference to Hank McCoy, ward of the state. I understand he is in your custody.” A cold feminine voice came through.

                “That’s correct.” Erik confirmed.

                “What is his condition?” She asked.

                “He’s fine.” Erik said.

                “Good. How do I get to you?” They could hear a pen scribbling.

                “The fastest way is by seaplane. Jed can bring you in with the mail.”

                “I’ll come tomorrow. Is someone able to provide reasonable care for the boy until then?” She certainly lived up to her name.

                Charles and Erik glance at each other. Charles shrugged, willing to take Hank but uncertain if that was the best idea, considering how well his last escape attempt had went. Erik gave him a slight glare but replied to Ms. Frost; “Yes. I can take him.”

                “Good. I may contact you later today.” She was wrapping up the phone call.

                “Wait a second!” This from an anxious Charles. Raven, familiar with her brother, sat back in her chair.

                “Who am I speaking to?” She said icily.

                “Scout Master Xavier. Can I just ask what’s going to happen to him?” He asked fretfully.

                “Normally we would try to place him with another foster home, but that option is no longer available to us. In my professional opinion, with his case history, he’ll go to Juvenile Refuge.”

                Erik and Charles exchanged another look. “What is that?” Erik asked, at the same time Charles leaned forward and asked “Is that an orphanage?”

                “Yes. An orphanage.” She replied to both of them. “However the first step would be the admissions panel. They require a psychological evaluation to determine whether or not the boy's a candidate for institutional treatment or electroshock therapy.” She said as though she to found such a thing distasteful. Erik immediately became confrontational.

                “Shock therapy? How is that necessary? He’s not violent.” He questioned forcefully, willing himself not to think of the tortures of the camp.

                “The report does describe an assault with scissors.” She said pointedly.

                Everyone in the room, including Raven, said into their headsets; “That was the girl!”

                “I will have to speak to Janos about that.” She murmured. “Then perhaps she requires help as well, but we cannot provide it. Alright?” She said louder.

                Erik reluctantly agreed. “Alright.” Emma Frost hung up the phone. Raven pulled the cords out of their sockets dejectedly.

                “An orphanage, Charles.” Raven said to her brother quietly. Charles looked at Erik.

                “What are we going to do, old friend?” He asked.

                Erik shook his head, wondering the same thing.

\--------------------

                Her mother had told her to get in the bathtub because apparently she smelled salty. Whatever that meant.

                Alex sat in the claw foot bathtub, her mother on her knees next to the tub scrubbing her daughter’s back with soap, because Alex was staring blankly into space.

                Katherine wanted to comfort her daughter, who might at this moment be a woman. She had spent two nights alone in the woods with a boy, after all.

                “I do know what you’re feeling, Alex.” She started softly. “I've had moments myself where I say: what am I doing here? Who made this decision? How could I allow myself to do something so stupid, and why is it still happening?” She just wanted Alex to know that this wouldn’t last forever. She wouldn’t always feel like she did right then.

                “I hate you.” It was odd to hear her daughter say it without it being yelled. Strange to hear her say something quietly.  

                “Don’t say hate.” Katherine told her hesitantly.

                “Why? I mean it.” It really was unsettling to hear her daughter say things she meant without screaming. If possible, it hurt worse.

                “I’m sure that you do, right now. In this moment. You’re lashing out because we have hurt you by separating you and that boy.” Katherine said quietly.

                “His name is Hank.” Alex’s voice was more solid now. “I do hate you. I know what you do with that weird policeman.” The girl hesitated before continuing. “You go to bed with him.” It sounded like a phrase she had read before and was now repeating.

                Katherine sighed. She knew her books were going missing. “We don’t go to bed with each other. But we shouldn’t discuss that. It’s inappropriate to even acknowledge what I just said.” She was not going to discuss the idea of emotional infidelity with her fourteen year old daughter.

                Alex Summers was not a crier. She was a screamer, a kicker, and set it on fire type of girl. She hadn’t cried in years. So when she starts crying, she doesn’t recognize it at first. She covered her face, not wanting her mother to see.

                Her voice broke when she said, “I love him. We just want to be together.” Her mother stroked her hair as she cried, pulling out the occasional twig.

                Alex Summers was not a crier.

\---------------------------

                Hank McCoy, was. He sat at Captain Lehnsherr’s small fold-out table, dry eyed. The captain in question was frying sausages in the small kitchenette, drinking a beer he had said was German. He had poured Hank a glass of milk and Hank restrained himself from saying he wasn’t six, mostly because he liked milk.

                “Do you think we would have made it? If we hadn’t overslept?” He asked, not looking up from his milk.

                “I think you would have succeeded in running away, yes. That doesn’t mean I think you would have made it.” Captain Lehnsherr replied, stirring the sausages.

                Hank was a smart boy. Very smart. So he understood what he was trying to say. But he didn’t agree. Less than twenty four hours ago, Hank had all but proposed. She had said yes. Captain Lehnsherr was wrong.

                “We knew that there would be trouble if we were caught. We knew people would worry.   We still ran away.” Hank admitted as Captain Lehnsherr slid half the sausages onto his plate and sat at the table. He paused, considering his next words. “You read the letters, right? That I sent her?” He asked, finally.

                “Yes. Mrs. Summers found them in her room.” Captain Lehnsherr confirmed, sipping the beer.

                “Well, then. It’s just that, if you read them, you know why we did it.” Hank explained, because it was true.

                “That’s true, I can’t deny it. And from the letters I know that you are much more intelligent than me.” Captain Lehnsherr told him. Hank didn’t preen. Compliments to his intelligence were fairly common. “But even smart children do foolish things. I know I did. Though I’ll once again admit you are more academically intelligent than me, I would like to say that I am intelligent. Even smart children stick their fingers in electrical sockets. Trust me on this. I was her once.” This was the most Hank had heard the Captain say all day.

                Hank finished his milk, not caring what the Captain had to say.

\-----------------------         

“What’s the rush? You could go to Harvard. You don’t need to run off right now. If you’re really serious, you could just wait for each other.” Erik asked the boy, knowing the suggestion would do no good. He had been young and grieving and stupid and angry once too. That kind of thing makes a boy run to the first soft thing he sees, makes a girl take anyone she can throw herself against and not shatter. At least, not shatter at first.   Magda had been just as young and stupid and angry and grieving as he.

The boy shrugged. “Maybe we could. But what do you know? You’re a bachelor.” This kids got more nerve then he thought. He had assumed that it had been Alex, in her unseen letters, that had been hustling him along, talking about how she didn’t want to be without him anymore. Maybe the boy did have a spine.

                “So are you. And I wasn’t always.” Erik pointed out. Hank’s gaze dropped to his barely touched plate.

                “I suppose that’s true.” He said sadly. “Did you ever love someone?”

                He thought of Magda, and the flowers he brought her when she had the twins. He thought of twirling her in a park, their first year in America together. He thought of her sewing him up after his temper got him into fights. He thought of her, soft and sweet that first time he saw her in Poland. He thought of her, worn out and immovable the day she left.

                “No.” He told the truth, or a version of it.

\----------------------------

                Charles sat at his desk, vaguely thinking of doing his nightly recording. He was on his third cigarette of the hour, and his fourth scotch. His pajamas were rumpled. His eyes were burning and he was certain that if he looked in the mirror they’d be red.

                “Scout Master’s log. September fifth.” He began, but stopped, letting it record his silence while he searched for words, which had always come easily to him. He took a deep breath, a gulp of his drink. He closed his eyes. He opened them again. “It’s terrible. It’s so terrible.” He stopped the recording.

\--------------------------

                The whole troop except for Hank and Azazel had crammed into the tree house. All of them were in their pajamas, but the nature of the pajamas varied. Warren was wearing silk, a matching set that buttoned up. Kitty wore a short sleeved white cotton nighty that went to her shins and had pink ribbons. Both Sean and Angel wore men’s boxers and old t-shirts. Of course, the sight of Sean in boxers and an old t-shirt elicited a very different reaction than the sight of Angel in boxers and an old t-shirt.

                Darwin and Warren stood with their backs to the group. They both stood at the balcony, which was really just a segment of wall they didn’t have enough wood to fill in and so they built a railing instead.

                “I heard on the phone they might send him to an orphanage. Or reform school.” Ororo told them all, she being the one who eavesdropped on the phone call with Social Services.

                “What if they take out a piece of his brain and send him to an insane asylum?” Sean asked quietly.

                “I like the girl.” Pyro told them all.

                “She seems a bit too stabby for me.” Bobby shrugged.

                “Supposedly they got to third base.” Clarice told them.

                “That’s not true, he just felt her up.” Angel countered.

“When did either of you have time to hear this?” Ororo questioned.

                “Who cares! Over shirt or undershirt?” Pyro asked, deeply intrigued.

                Warren, the more dramatic of the two leaders, slammed his hand down on the rail. Both he and Darwin turned to face the group, and so they only heard the rail collapse behind them and saw the faces of the troop as it happened. The railing ripped off a piece of the wall and took some shingles with it. The crash, nearly fifty feet below, was deafening in the silent night. Both Warren and Darwin moved away from the place where the rail once was.

                Warren spoke first. “This troop has been very shabby to Field Mate Hank McCoy. In fact, we've been a bunch of mean jerks. Why's he so unpopular? I admit, supposedly, he's emotionally disturbed -- but he's also a disadvantaged orphan. How would you feel?” He asked them all pointedly, before he looked at Anna Marie. “Anna Marie? Betsy? Pyro?” He looked at each of them. He looked at Ororo and asked from the heart “Ororo?”

                Darwin began to speak with feeling. “He's a fellow Khaki Scout, and he needs our help. Are we man enough,” Angel coughed pointedly. “good enough to give that? So part of his brain doesn't get removed?”

                The group was silent until Sean said quietly “They were willing to do anything for each other out there.”

                The scouts began to murmur to each other, but it didn’t need much discussion. Ororo looked to Darwin and Warren. “What do you need?”

                The co-leaders looked at each other. By silent agreement Warren turned back to Ororo. “For starters; Three yards of chicken wire, some ripped-up newspapers, and a bucket of wheat paste.”

\----------------------

                Alex lay awake as she tried to figure out a plan. Hank was at the police man’s house. Her father was in his study, probably drinking, and she was certain that soon her mother would be sneaking out to meet the Captain, taking the bicycle with her.

                If she could fill a bag with some food and slip out, could she reach the police man’s house? How would she signal to Hank that she was there? Where would they go?

                They’d figure it out. Hank was smart and Alex lived there.

                Yes. Alex sat up in the bed, straining her ears. There went her mother, out the front door. She threw herself out of bed as quietly as she could, stuffing her blanket at the bottom of the closed door to muffle her sounds and block the light she just flicked on. She pulled the night gown off, tossing it in her father’s large satchel backpack, wadded up as small as it would go. The knife, her eye shadow, underwear. Just the bare necessities. Cigarettes. Money. Sanitary napkins. Cut short jeans. The blanket from her bed, folded neatly. She put on a bra. She put on a small yellow dress. She considered the weather outside, and where they might be going, before she slipped on a mans long sleeve plaid flannel shirt. It was so long it came to below her dress. She tossed on her leather jacket and rolled on her longest socks, they came up to her thighs and were thick. She tied her shoes and grabbed her bag, turning off the light and hurrying down to the kitchen as soundlessly as possible, jumping the seventh step that creaked. She shoved tined meat, canned pineapples and pees into the bag, until finally it was like she had bricks on her back.

                She stood in the pantry for a moment, wondering if there was anything else they couldn’t live without. But then there was a slight rustling outside and she wondered if her mother had gotten home early, this thought was further confirmed by the kitchen screen door creaking open. Alex stepped back into the shadow of the pantry, hoping she wasn’t seen.

                It wasn’t her mother. It was a boy in a khaki scout uniform, looking back and forth carefully for the homes residents, he had something large and bulky under his arm.   Alex stepped out of the shadows. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t see if it was one of the scouts who threatened her and Hank, but she was on her guard. Her knife was at the bottom of her back and would be impossible to reach this time.

                He jumped, but didn’t make a sound. He was a Black boy, tall. He wasn’t one of the boys from the clearing. “You’re Alex right?” He whispered.

                “Yeah. Why are you here?” She hissed.

                “We’re here to spring you.” He explained.

                “How the fuck are you going to do that?” She hissed again.

                The boy wordlessly held up the bulky object that was almost shaped like a person.

\------------------------------

                Katherine Summers rode up to the parked police car where she had told Erik to wait. He sat on the hood, smoking. She dismounted the bike and said without preamble, “I can’t see you again. Not like this.” Erik nodded, like he had been waiting for it. He didn’t seem overly troubled, which seemed to make sense. They were both just someone to smoke with.

                “Good, because neither can I. Magda said she might allow more contact with the children. I don’t want this to ruin that.”

                They sat there together for a while longer. Eventually Erik stood. “I have to get back to the boy.” He explained. She slid off the hood and picked up her bike. He was about to get into the car when he paused. “Do you find it at all romantic?” Because in another world he calls himself Frankenstein’s monster and wears a cape. He has a certain respect for the dramatic.

                “It’s sad. They’re both so miserable seeming.” She decided.

                “Yes. It is.” He replied quietly, getting into the car and driving away.

                His words held Kathrine there for another minute, before she too rode away.

\-----------------------------

               Hank lay on the couch, slightly too tall for it. Captain Lehnsherr had snuck back in a little while before while Hank pretended to be asleep. He was staring at the ceiling when a small light fell down the chimney across from Hank. It was a lit match, Hank realized as it burned out on the cold bricks.

                He heard scuffling outside, coming from the chimney. He crept over, sticking his head in to look up. Thankfully, the moon was bright and the sky over head was cloudless, and the people above could easily be made out. The thing about the police station/Captain’s home was that half of it was built into the hill, the other half was on the dock. So that anyone could just walk along the hill and onto the roof, which seemed to be what Warren had done.

                “Get out of my chimney.” He whispered sharply.

                “Listen to me. We're here for friendship. We're going to get you off this island.” Warren whispered back. There was a long pause.

                “No thanks.” Hank finally said.

                “Yes, thanks. This is an emergency rescue.” Warren countered.

                “I won’t go. Not without Alex.” Hank told him firmly, though quietly. Warren gestured for Hank to wait before disappearing from view.

                A moment later, Warren’s face reappeared, joined by Alex. She grinned down at him. “Hey, bigfoot.” She greeted happily.

                “How did you sneak out?” Hank asked curiously.

                “They left a paper mache dummy in my bed.”

                Hank nodded, impressed.

                Warren held up a climbing rope for Hank to see. He slipped his head out of the chimney and pulled his clothes on quickly, tying his shoes firmly before he signaled for them to drop the rope and shimmied up it. The scouts, all of them, led Alex and Hank to several mini canoes on the water and climbed in quietly, the lapping water covering up some of their sounds but not enough that it was safe.

                Hank helped Alex balance when she climbed in, as her bag was quite heavy.

                The rowers paddled aggressively across a wide choppy straight near open sea. “Where are we going?” Hank asked finally.

                “Fort Agent. Sean’s older brother knows a guy there who runs the Supply and Resources outpost for the Jubilee. He's a Falcon Scout, Legionnaire. He says he’ll know what to do.” Darwin told them.

                “Is he, you know. Trustworthy?” Hank asked.

                Darwin shrugged. Hank twisted slightly and shouted across the water to the canoe where Sean was, as it was now safe to do so. “Is the guy your older brother know trustworthy?”

                “Normally I’d say no!” Sean shouted back, high pitched.

                The sky was pitch black, and there seemed to be a stiff breeze blowing something in.

                The canoes landed on the beach with the tide, everyone jumping out to haul them ashore.

\---------------------------

                Katherine was aware it was so late it was early. It was windy outside, the widows rattling, the walls creaking. Outside the trees swayed.

                She and her husband lay awake in their separate twin beds. They both seemed to find the ceiling very interesting, as that was what they were both looking at.

                “Jeb asked if I could do the mail run in November. He’s going to go visit his new grandkid.” Christopher told her.

                “That’ll be nice.”

                Another long stretch of silence. “The judge granted my application for leniency. Rogers vs. Yentob.” She mentioned.

                “Great.” He told her.

                “I’m sorry Chris.” Katherine’s voice broke slightly.

                “It’s not your fault.” He assured, thinking of the way she grinned when he first took her flying. He hadn’t done that in years, he realized. “Which injuries are you apologizing for? Specifically.” He asked.

                “Specifically? Whichever ones still hurt.”

                “Half of those were self-inflicted.” He told her wistfully. She smiled with tears in her eyes.

                A powerful blast of wind shook the room. There was a lump in his throat when he said; “I hope the roof flies off, and I get sucked up into space. You'll be better off without me.” He meant it.

                “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” She said sadly.

                “Why?” he said, seeming pained.

                They looked across at each other in the dark.

                “We’re all they’ve got Chris.” She said desperately.

Christopher took a deep breath before saying, with a dawning realization; “we aren’t nearly enough.”

\--------------------------------

                The troop had found a dry cave with lots of levels of rocks to sleep on. Lantern flames flickered over the jagged walls. Warren and Darwin slept on the rock with the best vantage point, as though to watch their group. Ororo was tucked into a sleeping bag under a ledge. Alex was curled next to Hank.

 

               


End file.
